Madness
by thesecondshelf
Summary: "It isn't funny!" Ron insisted. "I think there's something wrong with me." "Oh, there's something wrong with you all right," Harry replied. Quick little one shot - the boys discuss (gasp!) feelings in Ron's attic bedroom.


A/N: I'm baaaaaaaack... momentarily. I blame this one on my 7th graders. After weeks of trying to teach them how to correctly punctuate dialogue, I had to write some myself. I've labeled it as Ron/Hermione even though she does not appear in this story, because these silly boys just can't stop talking about her.

**Madness**

* * *

"I feel like I've gone mad," he said, after he turned out the lights.

Their conversations had grown heavier in recent weeks, but they took care to only discuss things of importance under the cover of darkness.

"How so?" his companion asked.

"Because I'm happy. Everything's a mess, but I'm happy. I'm literally lying here with a giant grin on my face."

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed.

"It isn't funny!" Ron insisted. "I think there's something wrong with me."

"Oh, there's something wrong with you all right," Harry replied.

"Remind me why you didn't accept Mum's offer for your own bedroom?" Ron said, wounded.

"Because you'd miss me if I moved out, obviously." Ron grumbled something in response, but Harry ignored him. "But anyway- back to your being happy issue. I'd say if you want to be miserable, you're definitely going to have to stop all the snogging."

"What?" Ron sputtered, in a combination of embarrassment and horror at the suggestion. "First of all, I don't want to be miserable. I just don't think I should be this bloody happy. Secondly, me and Hermione don't snog _that_ much. Third of all, even if we did, I don't plan on giving that up anytime soon. Or ever, really." He blushed at his admission.

"Ever?" Harry repeated. Ron couldn't see his friend in the dark, of course, but he could almost hear his eyebrow raise.

"You're not gonna tell her I said that, are you? She thinks I'm mental as it is."

"Cause you're happy."

"Cause I'm happy."

"And you're sure it's not the snogging?"

"I'm not saying that I don't know _why_ I'm happy. I'm saying that I shouldn't be happy... right?"

"Why not?"

"Don't you listen? Everything's a mess! The whole world is in shambles, we're still not allowed to leave the house without Auror escorts, my brother is... well. I just feel like I should be a lot more melancholy."

"_Melancholy_? This is more serious than I thought, mate. You've snogged her vocabulary right out of her."

"You are focusing on the wrong part of this conversation," Ron nearly groaned, exasperated.

"Can you blame me? The other part is rather depressing."

"That's the point!"

"All right. I'll humor you. You think you should be more sad, given the state of things."

"Exactly."

"Tuesday," Harry stated.

"What?"

"Two nights ago. Tuesday. Do you remember Tuesday?"

"Of course I remember Tuesday," Ron mumbled, trying very hard not to do exactly what Harry was suggesting. Mrs. Weasley had insisted Ron clean out the broom shed on Tuesday afternoon. He completely broke down when he found Fred's first beater's bat, and it had taken him most of the evening to compose himself.

"You weren't happy then."

"No," Ron admitted. "No, I wasn't."

"So, there you go," Harry said, with an air of finality that Ron did not understand.

"How is that relevant?"

"How is it not?"

The conversation stopped, and Harry assumed it was over. He removed his glasses and arranged his wand safely within reach before settling in for another long, warm night.

"So I'm not mad?" Ron asked, just as Harry began to drift off.

"Oh, you're mad," Harry mumbled into his pillow. "You're barking if you think that you shouldn't be happy after you beat the bad guy you've been fighting for seven years and got with the girl you've been mooning over for two."

"Four."

"Sorry, I was counting the stone -"

"No, seven's right there," Ron mumbled, interrupting his friend. "But the other number is four."

"Oh," Harry said, a smile of his own forming on his face. He rolled over, suddenly a lot more interested in this late night conversation. "Four years. Wow. Damn, we were-"

"Fourteen. I mean, I tried to tell myself that wasn't what was going on... but I never came up with another reason that I kept staring at her even when we weren't speaking over that bloody rat.

"Huh," Harry said, strangely fascinated. He was slightly worried about his interest in his best friends' love lives, but he figured it was their fault for completely tying him up in it for the past four (apparently) years. "So before the ball?"

"Before the ball."

"Before Krum?

"Before Krum."

"Huh," he repeated. Harry smiled again, almost sure he could feel Ron's deep blush from across the room. "I always thought you were clueless about it."

"Oh gee, thanks."

"But seriously - if you knew, why didn't you say anything?" Harry asked, unable to let the issue drop.

"When would I have? Hey Harry, if you could stop worrying about the Azkaban escapee who is trying to kill you, or the Triwizard Tournament, or the fact that your brain is connected to an evil manic, or those pesky horcruxes-"

"No, no, no," Harry interrupted. "Not to me. Why didn't you say anything to her?" Harry asked.

Ron couldn't help it. He laughed.

"It's not funny!" Harry insisted. "It would have saved me a lot of aggravation, that's for sure."

"Harry," Ron replied solemnly, "I know this is hard to believe, considering you're Harry Potter and all... but not everything is about you."

"Fair enough," Harry replied with a laugh, rolling over once again to settle in for the night. "Goodnight, Ron."

"Goodnight, Harry."


End file.
